


A Place That Never Felt Like Home

by SMQueen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Children, Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Gen, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Parentlock, Realization, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMQueen/pseuds/SMQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John's cousin dies, he is forced to take care of her 6-year-old daughter. Sherlock doesn't know much about children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As part of my New Year's resolution, I've been sorting through old documents on my computer. I had forgotten this existed, but I thought it was worth posting. If there's a genuine interest, I would be happy to continue it. Who knows? Maybe I'll continue it either way.
> 
> Let me know what you think. :)

John’s day had been going terribly even before he’d received the news. Sherlock was experiencing a particularly dreadful bout of boredom, there were no cases available to distract him, and John had realized, for what must have been the thousandth time, that they were out of milk.

So when his sister called him in an absolute fit, at least a good day wasn’t being ruined. After five minutes of hysterics and tears, Harry was able to calm down enough to deliver the news.

Their cousin, Anna, had died the previous evening in a terrible car accident. The news was devastating. Anna had been only 27 and though Harry had always been closer to her than John, he felt the impact of her loss deeply as well. She had lived quite close but time had caused them to drift apart, as time often does. John hadn’t spoken to his cousin in nearly three years. They’d both simply been busy. With John worried about war and work and Sherlock, and Anna singlehandedly raising a child, there wasn’t much time for catching up.

Of course this was the main issue at hand. Anna was gone and it was heartbreaking and awful and truly terrible in every way, but the worst news of the day was that there was no one to take her 6-year-old daughter, Sparrow.

Anna had always refused to discuss Sparrow’s father, saying only that he would “never be around.” No one knew who he was and no one had any idea where to find him. He’d never been in the picture, and he wasn’t an option.

Harry and John made up Sparrow’s only remaining family. And Harry couldn’t take possibly care of a child. She was at least well enough to realize that. She could hardly watch over herself, much less a 6-year-old.

The task, it seemed, fell to John. If he didn’t raise Sparrow, she would be sent into the system. She would likely be moved around constantly and never find a permanent home.

John had to take her. He hadn’t been extremely close to Anna, and he hadn’t seen Sparrow since she was a toddler, but he had no choice. She was family, and despite his hesitations, he couldn’t abandon her. Difficult sacrifices sometimes must be made when family is involved, and in the end, it was easy to agree to take the girl.

Abandoning Sherlock, however, wouldn’t be easy. John would have to move out and find someplace more suitable for a child. His entire life would change with this one simple decision. But it was, he knew, the right decision, the moral one.

He didn’t want to leave Sherlock. In fact, it was the last thing in the entire world that he wanted. His world revolved around the man, but that would have to change, whether he wanted it to or not.

These were the events that led John to where he was now: standing in front of Sherlock, who was sprawled across the couch with his eyes closed, trying to find the nerve to tell him what had happened. He drew a sharp breath and searched for the proper words but Sherlock didn’t give him the time to speak.

“You’re leaving,” he said, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

Sherlock had already deduced this. Of course he had. “I… how…”

“Must I really explain every detail of my deductions to you, John? You know what I’m capable of. What I don’t know are the exact details of your sister’s call. Why. Why are you leaving?”

John rubbed at his forehead, and shut his eyes for a moment. He opened them to find Sherlock sitting straight up on the couch, his eyes fixed sharply on John. “I have to,” John said finally with a sigh. “I have to leave, Sherlock. My cousin died. She… she had a daughter. A 6-year-old. I have to take her. There’s no one else.”

“You don’t have to,” Sherlock said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“There’s no one else,” John said, standing straighter now. This wasn’t just a question of family. It was his duty. “I really do have to take her.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, his eyes scanning John’s face. He gave a small nod and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes again.

“Sherlock,” John said quietly, taking a step towards him. “I… I don't have a choice,” he said again, hoping this could help in some way.

“Fine,” Sherlock mumbled, barely moving his lips.

“Fine,” John repeated as he walked toward the door. It was time to find a new place to live.

~~~

John spent the rest of the day searching for a new flat, but the simple fact was that he didn’t make enough money to afford anything that was large enough for a child. 

When he returned to Baker Street in the evening he was feeling as sorrowful as he ever had. It had been one of the worst days of his life.

Sherlock was still sitting in the same position on the couch. John was willing to bet that he hadn’t moved at all.

John entered the room with a tired sigh but Sherlock didn’t so much as glance up at him. The doctor headed to the kitchen and made tea in a daze. So far he had done a rather decent job of not thinking too much about the sharp twist his life had taken.

He didn’t need to think about the fact that his young cousin was dead. Or about the fact that soon, dangerously soon, he would be stuck raising a child that he was completely unprepared for. A child that would probably be wary of John and missing her mother desperately. And he certainly didn’t need to think about the fact that very soon he would be leaving his home, leaving Sherlock, for someplace that would probably be small and cold and uncomfortable and empty. And Sherlock wouldn’t be there. He didn’t need to think about any of that.

He set a cup of tea on the table in front of Sherlock and settled down into his usual chair. Sherlock finally sat up, opened his eyes, and reached for his cup once John had already gone through half of his own tea.

“I’ve decided against your current plan,” Sherlock said shortly, taking a drink.

“Hm?” John said, blinking rapidly. He’d nearly fallen asleep right in the chair.

“Your plan. I've thought about it. It’s dreadful.”

“Plan?”

“The plan to leave Baker Street in exchange for what, with your funds, will have to be a flat of vastly lesser quality.” Sherlock spoke as if the situation was easy, but this wasn’t about comfort.

“I’ve got to find someplace better suited for Sparrow. I don’t have a choice,” John said, reaching again for his drink. He wished it were something stronger than tea. He needed something stronger.

“Sparrow?” Sherlock asked, his eyebrows jumping toward the top of his forehead.

“Anna’s daughter…"

“That is a ridiculous name. What was she thinking? Sparrow?? A loathsome bird. Sparrows are known for eating small bits of anything in their path. What kind of mother would name their child after the most vile of…”

“Sherlock,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock appeared taken aback for a moment by the interruption. “Not good?” He asked, realization dawning slowly on his face.

“Not good,” John agreed.   
Sherlock waved his hand slightly as if to forget the current conversation. “The child’s name is irrelevant. I’ll call her Spare. Spare is fine. Appropriate even. She can stay here.”

John nearly spat out the tea that he’d just taken in his mouth. “Here?!”

“Of course. Baker Street is a lovely home.”

“No, no, no,” John sat up straighter in his chair. He was completely and totally awake now. “Sherlock, oh goodness. This is a terrible environment for a child. I… you… this would never work.”

“Don’t you trust me, John?”

“With a child? No,” John sputtered. “Of course I don’t.”

"I'm good with children."

"I know that's a lie."

"I can learn," Sherlock offered.

John paused and sat up straighter in his chair. "Sherlock, I don't expect this of you. This isn't your burden."

"It's yours," Sherlock said.

"Yes," John nodded.

"And you are my friend, correct?"

"Yes."

"Therefore, it's also my burden. Because you are my friend." Sherlock looked pleased with himself, like he'd worked out some difficult puzzle.

John took another long drink of his tea. "Sherlock, that's… Yes. We are friends. Of course. But. Well... friends generally don't raise children together."

A crease formed between Sherlock's eyes as he tried to understand. "Ah. I see. It isn't societally accepted for you to stay here. Wouldn't want people thinking that you're gay." 

John groaned. "Sherlock. That's not. People… they already think that." He set his cup of tea down on the table in front of them and leaned closer to Sherlock. "Listen to me. I want to stay here. This is my home. But this is not your problem, Sherlock, and I don't expect you to change your life for me, regardless of our friendship."

"Would I have to?"

"Change your life?" John breathed a huff of bitter laughter. "Drastically."

"Oh." Sherlock leaned back in his seat.

"Yes."

"At least stay until you've found a suitable living situation," Sherlock said after a moment. "I can manage a few days with the child. You can keep her in your room."

"I have to pick her up tomorrow, you know."

"Yes." 

"And you're telling me to bring her here?" John asked.

"Fine."

"Ok," John said with a sigh. "Just until I find a proper place to live. I'll keep looking tomorrow."

"Until you find a place," Sherlock agreed.

John leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. "I think I'm off to bed," he said, running a hand over his forehead wearily.

Sherlock looked up and scanned John's face. "Are you all right?" he asked, his eyes flickering over John's expression.

"No," John said, honestly. "Not at all."

"It's, uh, it's all going to be ok," Sherlock said, leaning to pat John once on the shoulder.

John laughed and got up from his seat. "Sherlock Holmes is attempting to comfort me. Now I'm definitely going to bed."

Sherlock pulled his hand away. "That's customary, isn't it?"

"Yes," John smiled. "It's customary."

"Will I like the girl? Spare?" Sherlock asked, his eyes wide, questioning.

"Are you really going to call her that?"

"I'm certainly not going to call her Sparrow."

John rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. "I don't know what you'll think of her. It's been so long, I don't even know what I'm going to think. I suppose we'll both see tomorrow, won't we?"

"We will," Sherlock said.

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, John."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all asked for another chapter, so here you have it. Thanks for being so nice. I appreciate any feedback.

John groaned and glanced at the clock. He'd been avoiding the thought all day, but it was time. He was off to pick up Sparrow. She had been sent to a group home after Anna's death. It was only temporary, but John felt terrible for leaving her there at all. 

John wasn't sure how much Sparrow knew about how her life was going to change. He hoped he wouldn't have to explain much, but he wasn't even sure how 6-year-old children understood things like death. He supposed he would soon find out.

John left his room and found Sherlock sprawled across the couch, eyes closed in thought.

"John," he said without opening his eyes. "You're going to get Spare."

"You are not allowed to call her that to her face," John said with a sigh.

"Why?"

"You might hurt her feelings."

"Her feelings?"

"Yes, Sherlock. You know what feelings are. Don't be daft."

"So?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not in the mood," John grumbled, heading into the kitchen to make tea and toast. "Just don't call her that."

Sherlock scooted further down on the couch and didn't reply.

"Sherlock, where have you put all the knives?" John asked after a moment.

No reply.

"Sherlock? The knives?"

Sherlock opened his eyes. "Ah. Yes. I moved them. Second cabinet at the top."

John reached up to the considerably higher cabinet for a knife. "Any particular reason for that or were you just getting bored with the knives being in a convenient place?"

"For Spare," Sherlock said, after a pause.

John set the knife down and walked slowly out of the kitchen. "Sherlock Holmes," he said with a slight smile. "You child-proofed?"

"The child is at a particularly curious age," Sherlock said, his sharp tone indicating that John really should already know this. "She will likely crave independence, in part to due to her age but largely due to her lack of parental guidance. She'll want to explore her new home and because her brain is still developing and because it will probably develop very little based on her family trends, she will be an idiot. A curious, independent tiny idiot with access to low drawers that contain sharp objects. There is a spectacularly high probability that she will cut herself. And that would be highly inconvenient."

John's smile had blossomed into a full grin. "You… you are ridiculous," he said.

"I would also advise a chore schedule," Sherlock continued like he hadn't heard John at all. "She will need a sense of normalcy. I've created a list of possible chores. There." He pointed to John's laptop. "I'll develop the specific schedule later today. Should take under an hour to determine what times and actions will inspire the best behavior."

John didn't know how to respond. He hadn't expected Sherlock to be involved with Sparrow at all, but he was proving surprisingly interested. "Sherlock," John said, taking a seat in his chair. "Sparrow will only be here until I find a place. You remember?"

"Of course," Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. "Yes, of course. Aren't you supposed to be going? I have work to do."

"Fine, fine," John sighed. "I'll stop bothering you. Sherlock, thank you for... Yeah. Just thanks."

Sherlock closed his eyes and murmured something inaudible. 

"All right," John said, rising from his seat and heading for the door. "I'll be back later then."

~~~

John had known that Sparrow would probably be a bit shy and uncomfortable, but he hadn't anticipated her being completely silent. She hadn't spoken a word since he'd picked her up. In fact, John wasn't terribly convinced that she knew how to speak at all.

He had tried, sure. He'd told her who he was and what she could call him. Where they were going. Why they had to go. He had certainly tried. And he was still trying. But she only stared out the window of the cab, long blonde hair falling over her face and large blue eyes fixed on the streets of London.

She was a beautiful child. John hadn't seen her in years, but he wasn't surprised. He had been a cute kid too. As had Harry. Watsons were good children. They were tiny and blonde and innocent. And apparently, unable to use their voice boxes.

"Sparrow," he said softly, deciding to try again for contact. "We have to stay with one of my… my friends for a little while, all right? Just until we find our own place. He's quite, well, quite interesting. But we won't be there long."

Sparrow just kept her eyes fixed on the window, like she hadn't heard John at all.

"Ok, then," he said quietly, reaching to fiddle with his phone to pass the time.

The ride was over soon enough and John was glad to be back at Baker Street. Sparrow's silence was deafening, and at least Sherlock could help distract John from the drastic misstep his life was taking.

He carried some of Sparrow's things inside and she followed him with tentative steps. Sherlock hadn't moved from his place on the couch, but he was sitting up now. That was something. Sparrow had more bags in the car so John gave Sherlock a hesitant look that he hoped he could understand.

Sherlock gave a small nod.

"Sparrow, stay here for a moment. I'll get the rest of your things," John said to the girl.

She looked down at her feet as John left the room, leaving just Sparrow in the center of the room and Sherlock on the couch.

"Do sit down," Sherlock said. "You're putting me on edge."

Sparrow ignored him for a moment before shuffling over to the couch and sitting down beside Sherlock.

"John told me I wasn't allowed to call you Spare. He said it would hurt your feelings. Is that accurate? Will it 'hurt' your 'feelings'?"

Sparrow bit her lip and clasped her hands in her lap.

"Are you capable of speaking?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," Sparrow said, in a voice that was no more than a squeak.

"Right," Sherlock nodded. "Then you can answer my question. Does 'Spare' hurt your feelings?"

Sparrow looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes. "No," she said quietly.

"Good. Thank you, Spare."

"What's your name?" Sparrow asked, looking quickly back at her hands in her lap to avoid eye contact.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"That's a silly name."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "It isn't silly. Sparrow is silly. Do you know what a sparrow is?"

"It's a little bird," Sparrow said with her first hint of a smile. "My mother told me that it's the loveliest bird of all."

"Well. Your mother…" Sherlock paused as Sparrow looked up at him, her lip quivering a bit. "Your mother was… correct," he finished, with a slightly pained expression. "Sparrows are little birds."

"Are they lovely?" Sparrow asked.

"Quite," Sherlock said. "Though you seem to be a lovelier Sparrow."

The girl smiled, bright and wide, and Sherlock found his lips quirking up too.

"Ah," John said in the doorway. "I see you two have met. Sparrow, you'll talk to him but not me?" He feigned a dramatic, wounded expression.

"I'm sorry," she said, seeming to retreat back into herself on the couch.

"No, no," John said, stepping into the room. "No. Don't be sorry. Not at all. I'm not much fun to talk to anyway."

"He's right," Sherlock mumbled. "He's no fun at all in conversation. Hasn't got much to add."

Sparrow giggled. Sherlock looked coolly at her, but couldn't hold back his own small huff of laughter.

"Hm." John wrinkled his forehead, but his eyes revealed his happiness. "I see I'm outnumbered here. Sparrow, are you hungry?"

"No," she said, still in that tiny squeak.

"Then I suppose it's bed time, isn't it? It's been a long day," John said.

Sparrow nodded and stood up.

"Come on." John held his hand out to the girl. "I've fixed up a room for you."

With only two bedrooms in Baker Street, John had decided to give up his own room. He would sleep on the couch until they found a proper place. It wasn't a problem.

John put Sparrow to bed without any issues. She didn't say anything else, but she didn't seem as timid either, and John was glad for that at least. He closed the door softly and headed back into the main room. Sherlock had moved from the couch to his chair. John fell into his usual place with a deep sigh.

"She likes you," he said after a moment, glancing up at Sherlock.

"Does she?" Sherlock asked, running a hand over the outside of his violin case.

"She does. I can tell. What did you say to her while I was getting the bags?"

"I told her a lie."

"And that was?"

"I told her that sparrows are lovely birds."

John looked up and caught Sherlock's stare. "You hate sparrows."

"Not hate," Sherlock said. "But strongly dislike, yes. They're vile. I also said that she was lovely. Or lovelier than the birds. No great achievement, that, obviously, but still true, I imagine."

"Why did you tell her that?" John asked.

A crease formed between Sherlock's eyes as he considered the question. "I was trying to be kind," he said, after a long pause.

John smiled. "Just look at you. I've taught you well."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and set his violin aside. "You put her to bed in your room."

"Yes."

"Where will you sleep?"

John motioned around the room. "Right here."

"Increased stress and drastic changes in setting and comfort level will inevitably trigger your nightmares," Sherlock said.

John shrugged. "I can handle it. Wake me up if I shout too loudly. I don't want to wake Sparrow."

"Nonsense," Sherlock said, finally standing from the couch. "You can sleep in my bed."

John choked out an awkward laugh. "Sherlock, that's…"

"Though I haven't slept in, oh, days now. So you might have to settle for sharing the space."

"Sherlock, you do understand what people are going to think if…"

Sherlock waved his hand. "Don't argue, John," he said, cutting off John's words. "I'm being logical. You need a bed. I have a bed. Simple. No one can see through the walls of this flat. Do stop being so terribly self-conscious. People will always talk."

"That's not… I'm not…"

"You are," Sherlock interrupted again.

John took a long breath. "Fine. Yes. You're right. I am being ridiculous. Sherlock, I appreciate the offer, but…"

"But nothing. I truly don't want to deal with your nightmares all night if you sleep out here. Very irritating," Sherlock said. "Now stop arguing and go to bed. I can see that you're exhausted."

"Of course you can," John said, with resignation. He stood up and started to make his way to Sherlock's room. "You're, um, you're sure that you don't mind?"

"Not at all. I might not be to bed tonight anyway. I'm feeling a fresh burst of energy. Might start a new experiment." 

"Just now you said you hadn't slept in days," John said.

Sherlock shrugged.

"You need to sleep, Sherlock. As much as you try to fight it, you are human. Sleep is necessary."

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled. "Just go on. I'll be in eventually. I'll wait until you're asleep so you aren't forced into a personal crisis."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked, his voice a touch too sharp.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, looking away. "Forget it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter @SkyyTweet.


End file.
